


No Memories But These

by takemetofantasyland



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon verse, F/M, Missing Scene, More characters will be added as we go, depictions of violence as described in the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26326273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takemetofantasyland/pseuds/takemetofantasyland
Summary: A collection of missing scene one shots in the canon universe. All one shots are canon compliant. Mostly in chronological order beginning after In My Dreams.Notes before each chapter. No chapter exceeds T rating.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16





	1. The First Night

**Author's Note:**

> Following In My Dreams. Just thought it would be fun to explore sort of what happens after they initially meet. :)

While all had sounded well and good as they struck the deal, the weight of reality was starting to settle in. Dmitry eyed the girl as she followed Vlad down a hallway in the abandoned palace.

He tilted his head as he watched her take long strides to keep up with Vlad. She listened intently as he rambled on about something. Vlad would tell any willing ear about his days as a faux member of court. And she appeared to be an attentive listener.

Vlad pointed out artifacts that were still in the palace—or what was left of it. The palace had been raided when the members of the court had fled the country, and most of the remaining items of value had been stolen over time. 

The young woman followed Vlad’s gaze as they passed through the hall and into a sitting room. It had the largest book shelf she had ever seen, stacked with books covered in a film of dust. 

She looked at it with wide eyes. Her stance, the way she tucked her arms behind her back and rocked on her feet subconsciously, made her look small in a room so grand. 

Dmitry chewed his lip as he watched her. Vlad had been so sure. Vlad had told him she was the one. He wasn’t so sure. With a lot of work she could pass as the missing grand duchess—maybe. 

“I’m sure your day has been long,” Vlad said warmly as he came to her side while she gazed at the books. “Perhaps we start with a meal? Dmitry?” 

Vlad turned around to look for where Dmitry had lingered behind. 

Dmitry snapped out of his head and looked back at Vlad. “Sure,” he replied quietly with a nod. 

The young woman, Anya, turned to look at him. She hadn’t spoken two words to him since she had agreed to his deal.

She turned back around and looked at the bookcase. In her own curiosity, she approached it, and her fingers ran over the spines of books that hadn’t been touched in years. 

Vlad glanced around the room. Suddenly, showing this room to Anya felt like he and Dmitry were seeing it again for the first time. 

Anya examined the room with cautious curiosity. There were parts of the room that looked well-worn and lived in. A chaise with the sheet cover pulled off. A cabinet stocked with survival items. It appeared Dmitry and Vlad spent some amount of their time in here. 

“Dmitry, I think there is bread and perhaps a can of beans in that cabinet,” Vlad ordered. 

Dmitry opened his mouth to complain, and snapped it shut with a soft grunt. Vlad was giving this girl the royal treatment. She was only pretending to be the grand duchess to pull off their con, she wasn’t actually royalty. Nevertheless, Vlad seemed to favor her company over Dmitry’s. 

He crouched down to pull items he had hidden in their cabinet and stashed away for safekeeping. Dmitry pulled his pocket knife out and cut into the lid of the can as he watched Anya chatter away with Vlad. She had not returned such kindness to him. 

Vlad led Anya to a small table the pair seemed to eat their meals at, and pulled up a chair for her. She took a seat and thanked him. 

Dmitry gathered what they had available to eat and carried it over to Anya and Vlad as they sat in the room that was outfitted in the remains of a life that was once more luxurious. Anya fixed her skirt as she sat in her chair. Her attire was that of a peasant, but she sat too straight for a woman who claimed to have worked labor jobs. 

Dmitry’s eyes narrowed as he watched her.

Vlad passed out dinnerware he and Dmitry had managed to salvage from a cabinet somewhere else in the palace. 

Dmitry tore a third of the bread and handed it to her. Anya stared him down as she took it from him. He arched his brow and tore the remaining piece in half and handed it to Vlad. He set the can of beans and a spoon in the center between the three of them. 

Anya ate in the manner of a squirrel, clutching her bread and chewing quickly, her eyes watching Dmitry. 

He stared back at her. He had never seen a young woman act so feral. And Vlad was certain this was their Anastasia. Dmitry wasn’t sure there were enough books in the abandoned library to help her. And this had to be one of the largest libraries in the city. 

Anya took a spoonful of beans to eat with her bread, enough to soften it to eat faster. Her manners were defensive and uninviting. Dmitry assumed she had spent many nights hungry, and what little food she was able to secure for herself she felt the need to protect or eat quickly. 

Dmitry had barely taken in his own meal and had eaten mindlessly as he watched her. There were about ten things he could think of off the top of his head that they needed to iron out just in the way she ate alone. 

As they finished their meal, Vlad cleared their place, leaving Anya alone with Dmitry. She looked at him, the furrow in her brow a sign she did not trust him. 

“I think tonight we settle, but starting tomorrow, we have work to do,” he scoffed. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. 

Anya frowned as she looked at him. She picked up her skirts and rose to her feet. “Fine,” she replied. She turned sharply on her heel, her skirts fanning out around her and her hair tossing dramatically over her shoulder.

She made herself comfortable, shedding her overcoat and smoothing her blouse. Dmitry and Vlad had clearly grown comfortable here so why shouldn’t she?

Anya walked back to the bookshelf and began to peruse the titles. She picked a book from the shelf, disrupting the dust. 

Dmitry eyed her and followed Vlad out into the hall as he cleared dinnerware. 

“Have you lost your mind too?” Dmitry barked at Vlad. 

“Give it time,” Vlad replied without looking up at him.

“Did you see her?” Dmitry retorted. “How am I supposed to convince the Dowager Empress this is her granddaughter when she eats like a wild animal?”

Vlad turned to look at him, gazing at him over the top of his spectacles, “Be patient with her.”

“If we had taken Marfa, at least she would start at the baseline of not being out of her mind!” Dmitry barked. 

“If she has the patience to walk to Petersburg from Perm, I think she has the patience to learn a few manners while she’s here,” Vlad replied. 

“So you don’t see a flaw in this plan?” Dmitry crossed his arms as his brow knit. 

“No,” Vlad shook his head. “I don’t.”

“And what if we can’t train her?” Dmitry retorted as he gestured in her direction. “She’s got a mind of her own.”

“Then you had better get to work,” Vlad suggested. He wiped plates clean and stacked them together. Unbothered, Vlad returned the plates to a cabinet.

Dmitry groaned and peered back at Anya. She had a slight sway in her body as she rocked on her feet and held a book in her arm while she turned the pages. 

“Vlad,” Dmitry protested. 

Vlad held a hand up. “You made a deal.”

Dmitry muttered a curse. He returned to the sitting room where Anya had taken a seat on the chaise and was flipping through a book. She had made herself at home rather quickly.

“So,” Dmitry said in a low voice as he approached her. 

Anya’s eyes flicked up at him. 

Dmitry turned away from her. He had little to say to her. 

“Can I help you?” Anya asked coldly. 

Dmitry clenched his jaw. The inflection in her voice was so condescending he was about to throw the whole thing and start over. He could’ve gotten Marfa to stop chewing tobacco for the occasion. He wasn’t so sure about whatever _this_ was. 

“No,” Dmitry replied as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Defeated, he turned away from her.

Anya watched him. 

Dmitry paced back and forth for a moment. He paused, realizing Anya had her eyes on him. He looked back at her. Her eyes were on his hands in his pockets. 

He carefully pulled his hands out and her eyes returned to her book. She flipped the page. 

“What are you reading?” Dmitry asked. He was quickly realizing they had very little common ground for casual conversation. 

Anya looked up at him, “A book.”

Dmitry balled his hand into a fist to diffuse his temper. She wasn’t making this easy, either. 

Vlad returned to the room and stripped his vest off. He set it aside and glanced at Dmitry. 

Dmitry gestured at Anya with dissatisfaction. 

Vlad shook his head.

Dmitry sighed and his shoulders dropped. If he was going to get her to do anything, clearly they were going to need to find some sort of middle ground. 

“What kind of book?” Dmitry asked. He wore a fake grin. Anya appeared to be immune to his casual charm, but if she was going to do his bidding, he was going to need to be polite. 

“One from the shelf,” Anya replied without looking at him.

Dmitry pursed his lips. She was mouthy and he didn’t like that. This was a grave mistake. 

“Anya, Darling,” Vlad interrupted. Anya looked up at him. “Our sleeping arrangements are not as grand as the palace they’re situated in, but you may take a sack of lentils in the corner tonight, if you would like.”

Anya followed his gaze to a sack of lentils, “oh, thank you.”

Dmitry’s mouth gaped as he was about to protest. 

Vlad gave him a stern look. 

He snapped his jaw shut. Usually he was exhausted from working pleasantries with merchants. Now he had to do it in his off hours with Anya, too. With a grunt, he stripped his vest off and was decidedly ready to go to bed. 

Anya sat, reading, and kept a careful eye on him. She didn’t trust him and he didn’t know why. She had agreed to fleeing the country with him, but would not take her eyes off him if she could not see his hands. 

It was like living with a corrections officer. 

Finding his patience thin tonight, Dmitry brooded in the sitting room, staring into the fire as he sat alone. Within half an hour, Vlad was down for the night. It left the two of them in each other’s company. 

Without Vlad, Anya was unguarded. He had so far acted as a barrier between them and a peace keeper when necessary. 

Anya watched Dmitry as he relaxed into what she assumed was his designated place to sleep in the room. He was still awake, but he had turned his back to her in an act of protest. 

She snapped her book shut and got up from the chaise. It had fallen dark with the night, and only the low glow of the fire cast shadows in the room. 

Anya walked across the room to a window and peered outside. She watched as snow fell, blanketing the city in white. How small they must look down there to counts and countesses as they watched from grand palace walls. 

She picked up her skirt and climbed into the window sill. It was large enough she could curl up and sit comfortably. Anya hugged her knees to her chest and smoothed her skirt as she gazed out the window. It was rare she got to watch St. Petersburg from behind a glass. 

She looked up at the night sky and she was hopeful. The nights in St. Petersburg, or rather Leningrad as officers now called it, had not been easy. But she had a promise of escape and she held that closer to her heart than she could ever let Dmitry know.

Dmitry rolled onto his back and turned to look at her. He had taken her silence as an indication she must have fallen asleep, but instead he spotted her silhouette in the window. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at the night sky. He felt a touch of guilt in his chest for being so hard on her, and for the first time felt sympathetic to her situation. He could appreciate a night sky himself. 

Her temper was short, but only because she was small and was likely often taken advantage of. She still had a head full of dreams. Perhaps she listened to them too often, in his opinion, but she knew what she wanted and dreamed of a life bigger than this. He admired that about her. Even if she did sound out of her mind.

He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, like he was gazing upon an intimate moment when Anya was sure no one else was awake. For the first time he saw himself in her. They put up a guard in the daylight because they had been trained to survive. But at night, in the temporary security of the palace walls, they were allowed to let their guard down and be dreamers. 


	2. A Better Haircut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roughly around Learn to Do It :)

After struggling with the palace door that still stuck after the dreary winter, Anya stumbled into the abandoned hallway. The palace was hollow and dark, and she suspected Dmitry had forgotten to light the lamps. She clutched a loaf of bread she had bought with her week’s wages to her chest and held her hand out against the wall to navigate through the dark until her eyes adjusted. 

Even in the dark, she found her way to the drawing room with little trouble. There was something that guided her through the palace like she had walked these halls thousands of times. 

In the corner of the room, Dmitry was sitting with his shoulders hunched on an old footstool. Nearby, Vlad leaned against an old chaise with his arms crossed. A single oil lamp dimly illuminated their silhouettes. 

Anya paused in the grand entryway of the room. The ghostly appearance of the palace at night was oddly comforting to her. Seeing Dmitry a shadow of his usual self was what worried her instead. 

Dmitry’s voice rose above his low whisper as he spoke to Vlad. Vlad held a hand up to quiet him. He tossed his cap to the ground and hung his head in his hands in defeat.

Anya had only been living with them for a few weeks, but she could already tell by the way Dmitry’s brow knit something was wrong. 

She walked into the room and set the loaf of bread down. “I’m back,” she announced her presence quietly, as not to startle them. 

Vlad turned to look at her. Dmitry barely glanced in her direction. 

“Is everything alright?” Anya asked as she shrugged her coat off. She turned to look back at Dmitry as she stood on her toes to hang her coat on the lowest hook on the rack. 

“Do you usually walk along the Nevsky prospect on your way back to the palace?” Vlad asked. His face was expressionless as he looked at Anya over the top of his spectacles. Dmitry ran his fingers through his hair as his eyes cast away from Anya.

“No,” Anya replied as she straightened her skirts. She quietly approached them. “Why?”

“Don’t trouble her with it, Vlad,” Dmitry grumbled. 

“Why?” Anya repeated. Her brow knit. “Dmitry, what’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dmitry muttered. As he stood up, he brushed his hair back with his fingers. Dmitry dropped his hand to his side and his hair fell back into his eyes. He let out a sigh as he started across the room.

As he passed her, Anya caught the sleeve of his shirt and yanked him back. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“It doesn’t concern you,” Dmitry snapped. He held her gaze a moment longer. 

Anya frowned and gripped the lapel of his vest, pulling him down to her eye level. “You said if any of us had a survival piece of information we would always be honest with each other,” Anya reminded him. 

Dmitry pried her pestering hand from his vest and straightened himself out. “A few shops on the Nevsky prospect have closed under suspicious circumstances,” he replied coldly. “I overheard in the square the barbershop on that street was boarded up this morning. A couple factory workers saw soldiers inspecting it before the sun rose.”

“Oh, God,” Anya whispered as she clasped a hand to her mouth. Her stomach twisted and she was starting to lose her appetite.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?” She demanded. Anya knew Dmitry thought she was childish and naïve. 

Dmitry had turned away from her and fidgeted with a box of matches. He looked back at her, “you don’t need to worry yourself with things that don’t concern you. There are plenty of other things you need to concern yourself with—namely those books.” He gestured with a matchstick. 

“I think that does concern me!” Anya retorted. “If I get picked off on the Nevsky prospect, you’ll lose your Anastasia!” 

Dmitry grit his teeth and swallowed hard. She knew how to hit right where she knew it would sting.

“Fine,” Dmitry shrugged it off and struck the match. He carefully lit a lamp and extinguished the match stick. “Now you know. Don’t walk along the Nevsky at night, unless you have a death wish.”

Two could play this game. 

Dmitry struck a second match, “and if that’s the case, then be my guest.” The flame flickered, casting dancing shadows on his face.

Anya clenched her jaw as she glared at him. “Wasn’t that the barbershop that you used to hang out with all those men who smoke cigarettes?” She asked. 

Dmitry glared at her. 

“And pretend because they can style hair and puff on a cigarette they’re better than the rest of us?” She pressed him. “That would be your crowd, wouldn’t it?”

He pushed past her as he took the box of matches and made his nightly round to light a couple oil lamps. Dmitry paused in front of the fireplace and lit a starter. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dmitry muttered. He extinguished the last match, and Anya broke her gaze. 

Anya turned on her heel. Dmitry didn’t want her company and she didn’t want his, so she decided to start their meal without him. Vlad followed behind her, glancing back at Dmitry. 

She turned to look at Vlad. Her brow softened as she exhaled. “I brought some bread on my way back from the market,” Anya said softly.

Dmitry paused by one of the grand palace windows and stared out over the city. He exhaled and turned away, and busied himself with fixing the stack of history books that had been haphazardly spread across the floor. He swiped his cap from the floor and tossed it onto the chaise nearby. 

Anya’s eyes flicked to Dmitry. She watched him tidy the sitting room, but his hands were still fidgety as he lingered behind. Her words were not always kind to him, but it wasn’t in Anya to not care about him.

“Is he alright?” she asked Vlad as she set plates out for the three of them. They had an unspoken established habit of eating meals together in the evenings.

Vlad turned back to look at him, “he’ll be fine.”

She looked past Vlad at where Dmitry was standing alone in the room, “is he worried it could happen to one of us?” Anya broke the bread and handed a piece to Vlad. 

“I don’t think so,” he replied as he took a share of bread from her. “I think it’s hard for him to see change. He’ll tell you he raised himself, but that barber treated him like a son.”

Vlad was wiser than he led on and Anya took comfort in his words. His calm demeanor balanced Dmitry’s hot temper. She felt a pang of guilt in her stomach for berating Dmitry. Compassion would do them both some good. 

Anya split the rest of the bread between her plate and a plate for Dmitry. Vlad’s shoulders were heavy and he was still as Anya hurried around him to dig through their meal rations. “I think it would be hard for anyone to watch people disappear under suspicion,” Anya said quietly as she divided what she had found between the three of them.

Vlad nodded in agreement. 

Anya finished arranging a plate for Dmitry and left it for him as she took her plate to sit with Vlad. The bread that had smelled so good as she carried it home was now somehow bland and flavorless. Anya took small bites, but it seemed the day-old bread was still drying her mouth out. Perhaps it was the vivid image Dmitry had painted of the Nevsky prospect that she couldn’t quite shake from her mind. 

She swallowed hard as she heard Dmitry pick up his plate and he sat beside her with a sigh. 

“Thanks for the bread,” he murmured as he settled down beside her. He could be cold at times, but was never ungrateful.

Anya nodded to him. She watched as Dmitry picked at his plate. It was out of character for him, but his mind seemed to be somewhere else. 

She tore her remaining bread into smaller and smaller pieces to drag out their meal together. “How long do you think before we can go?” Anya asked. As days passed, the streets were becoming more dangerous, and if it hadn’t been for Dmitry and Vlad’s kindness she would still be sleeping on the streets herself.

“For three sets of exit papers?” Vlad replied. “It could be months.”

“Months?” Anya gasped. 

“I told you they wouldn’t be cheap,” Dmitry interjected.

“Don’t all these disappearances inspire you to—I don’t know— speed up the process?” Anya asked. 

“If we could do it any faster, don’t you think we’d have done it by now?” Dmitry snapped. 

Anya swallowed hard. 

Dmitry finished his meal in silence and got up without another word. He disappeared down a hall and Anya decided she was better off not going after him. He was clearly bothered and wasn’t looking for anyone to console him. 

She helped Vlad clear their table. Anya’s eyes flicked to the hall, expecting Dmitry to return, but he didn’t. He couldn’t have gone far. He’d be out of his mind to leave the palace at this hour. 

Anya rounded the room and picked up one of the books they used for lessons and began to flip through the pages. She plopped down on the chaise and began to read by the lamplight. 

Vlad stared out the window of the palace onto the broken city below them. He was sipping from a flask again and Anya knew he would be asleep within an hour. 

Dmitry returned with a pair of shears he had gotten from somewhere in the palace. Anya didn’t ask where. She didn’t want to know the answer. 

He pulled a sheet off an ornate mirror in the corner of the room and crouched down to look at his reflection. The top of the mirror was cracked and splintered, distorting all but the lower half of the pane. Dmitry set the shears down and pulled the mirror upright. 

Once he got it into a decent position, Dmitry sat on the floor in front of the mirror and examined his reflection. His fist balled around the shears and his free hand combed through his hair. It had gotten quite long and unkept over the past few weeks, and he frowned as he looked at himself. 

Anya peered over the top of her book at him. His nose scrunched as he assessed his hair. Her lip curled into a smile and she held her book up to hide it. 

Dmitry ignored her as he held his hair between his fingers and looked about where he wanted to cut. Then he let it slip through his fingers, and his hair fell back into his eyes. It was as if he was warring with himself over it. 

His hair was a dominating feature on his face. Dark, long, styled with care, it was like a personality trait of its own. It certainly was what attracted the girls in town.

Sitting up straighter, this time with gusto, he held his hair out and measured where he wanted to cut. Dmitry opened the shears, but froze as he held them to his hair. He closed the shears again and let his hair drop from his fingers. His jaw clenched and the dimple in his cheek deepened as he stared at his reflection.

There was something youthful and boyish about his struggle with uncertainty. Usually Dmitry was quick to make decisions. He took action and if it went wrong, was prepared to suffer the consequence. Tonight he seems to be grappling with self doubt.

Anya had never seen this side of him before.

He had never attempted to cut his own hair, at least not in her presence. As far as Anya knew he took fondly to the barbershop, and hung out with the men who spent their off hours gathered around there. Dmitry was one of the younger few, but quite popular among the mix, as Anya had observed in her passings.

She supposed maybe all he wanted was to feel wanted, too. 

So Anya was nearly horrified by his seemingly rash decision to take shears to his hair himself. Maybe it was a moment of weakness. Dmitry had always had someone else cut his hair, and the loss of the barbershop on the Nevsky felt like abandonment. Though for a man so vain, she was sure he wouldn’t be so careless as to do a hack job on his own hair. 

Anya sat up straighter and settled her book into her lap. She knew Dmitry would never ask for help, especially not from her. 

In one last attempt he held up a section of his hair and carefully brought the shears to it. 

Despite his general lack of kindness toward her, Anya felt a twist in her stomach and an overwhelming pull to stop him from making a mess of his own hair. She snapped her book shut and set it aside, jumping to her feet.

Dmitry stared at the shears in his hand and looked up at his own reflection. It was like there was something more than a mental block stopping him. With a sigh, his hand dropped with the shears. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Anya quietly approached him. “Would you like some help with those?” She offered as she rocked on the heels of her boots. 

Dmitry’s eyes flicked up to look at her distorted reflection in the shards of the mirror. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Anya tucked her arms behind her back and paused. “I have cut hair before, you know.”

Dmitry was doubtful of this. His ears burned red as he realized she had been watching him try to build the courage to cut it himself. 

He clenched his jaw, not giving in to her so easily. Dmitry stared at Anya’s reflection in the mirror. The distortion in the mirror made her look taller than she really was. 

Dmitry was as smart as he was proud. He swallowed his pride with a heavy sigh, “fine.” He reluctantly handed her the shears, still uncertain about relinquishing this power to her.

Anya dragged a footstool over to where he was sitting on the floor. She pushed her hand into his back to get him to sit up straight and he grumbled. 

She sat on the footstool behind him, settling her feet on either side of him. 

“Is it really a good idea for you to be wielding scissors?” Dmitry muttered as he watched Anya examine the shears. 

She frowned and held the shears to his throat as she steadied her free hand on his shoulder.

Dmitry swallowed hard as he looked at her in the mirror, feeling the blade just barely graze his jugular. He was at her mercy and there was no backing down now. 

“What was that?” Anya quipped. She was willing to give him a chance to change his mind.

“Nothing,” Dmitry managed. 

Vlad watched the pair across the room in the dim glow of the lamplight. If this went well they might end up as friends after all. If it went horribly wrong, they would be rushing to the hospital. Neither was out of the question.

Anya smirked as she stuck her fingers through the handles and snipped the air. She felt Dmitry’s shoulders tense beneath her. 

She leaned over him and combed her fingers through his hair. As she bowed her head to look at his hair, her long hair spilled onto his shoulder and down his arm. Dmitry tensed at her closeness and his eyes flicked to her golden hair on his shoulder. 

Anya’s brow softened as she brushed through his hair. She paused, his hair was softer than she had thought, and her smile faded.

Her heart began to race, not because of the pair of shears in her hand, though that didn’t help. It was that she had never thought of Dmitry’s hair at all until her fingers were laced through it. It was so soft and thick, she could see why they girls in the square fawned over Dmitry. The thought of running fingers through a lover’s hair crossed her mind and suddenly she snapped back to the room. 

Her shoulders sharpened and she sat upright. 

Dmitry looked at her in the reflection of the mirror, his brow knit in confusion. 

Her fingers carded through his hair as her cheeks burned with her own embarrassment. Anya cleared her throat and held his hair between her fingers, hoping he hadn’t noticed. He had.

Anya brushes her fingers through his hair and let it fall into place to follow the way it had been cut before. She gripped a section between her fingers to measure and gently snipped the shears to trim. Pieces of hair fell around her hand and onto Dmitry’s shoulders. 

His lips sputtered as pieces of hair dropped onto his cheeks and his brow knit. Anya tightened her feet on either side of him to get him to sit still.

Her knees dug into his back and he shifted uncomfortably. Anya relaxed her posture and took a deep breath.

Their relationship had been built on bravado, but in that moment there was a certain tenderness between the two of them they likely would never mention again. Anya settled into her stool and gently trimmed his hair section by section. 

It was like a bizarre trust exercise. At the slip of her hand everything could go wrong, and yet he subjected himself to her anyway.

Dmitry looked at his reflection and his brow arched as he watched Anya purse her lips while she concentrated. She ignored the way he winced when he thought she had cut too much. 

With each snip, he began to relax at her touch. His back curved into her legs and he closed his eyes when her fingers gently brushed through his hair. 

Anya’s mind slipped away as she trimmed. It was a repetitive task to take sections of his hair and gently trim, but she took great care all the same. She thought of what it would be like to have a love where the most mundane tasks were meaningful. 

Little by little she trimmed his hair, taking more off the length than how Dmitry usually wore it. Anya thought it looked better that way. 

Dmitry slowly stopped fidgeting at her touch, and relaxed into her. Instead of working against her, he was working with her.

She straightened her back and tilted his chin up to look at her handiwork in the reflection of the mirror. Her brow knit as she ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to get it to fall into place. 

Dmitry turned his head slightly to try to catch a glimpse of what she was doing and she tilted his head back. 

A slight smile pulled at Anya’s lips as she admired her work. Yes, it was much better this way. Granted, he had left it long for some time. She sat up straight, and a gasp escaped his lips as he unexpectedly rocked back where he had anticipated her legs to be. 

Anya ran her fingers through his hair and her hand rounded his cheek. He pressed his cheek into her hand as she looked in the fragmented reflection.

“Turn to me,” Anya said softly as she pulled her hand away. “Please.”

Dmitry got up and turned his body around to face her. He sat on his knees as he looked up at her. 

Anya pushed the footstool aside. As she kneeled in front of him, her skirts grazed his knees and pooled onto his lap as she sat closer. She adjusted herself so she was at his eye level and traced her fingers along his jawline to tilt his chin up. She expected him to grumble, but he was quiet and still.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Anya caught his gaze. His brown eyes were soft in the lamplight. Dmitry was at the mercy of her fingertips and had accepted whatever fate that may bring. 

Anya’s thumb caressed his cheek, and she masked it with dusting stray hairs away. Her touch was gentle and forgiving, but she felt his breath hitch. 

He was still as he did as he was told. Anya had never been this close to him without him barking some order in her face. 

She forgot about the shears in her hand and studied every chiseled inch of his face. She was so focused, she forgot to breathe as her eyes scanned over his thick brows, to his high cheek bones, to the dimple in his cheek.

Dmitry cleared his throat and it snapped Anya back. She took the front pieces of his hair and carefully trimmed them. As she cut, trimmings fell onto his cheeks and tickled his nose. He scrunched his nose while trying to stay still.

“Sorry,” Anya whispered. She used the sleeve of her blouse to brush them away.

“Here,” Dmitry replied. He offered her the handkerchief he kept in his pocket.

Her fingers grazed his as she took it from him, and she smiled. Anya took the handkerchief and gently brushed the stray hair away. SHe shook the kerchief out and folded it with care and sat back on her heels to look at Dmitry. 

His face was blank as he stared back at her. Anya bit her lip and carefully snipped a few of the pieces that fell right in front of his face. Those were the ones that were always falling in his eyes, anyway. 

Dmitry shifted beneath her. He was unable to see the mirror or what she was doing.

Anya hummed quietly as she ran her fingers through his hair to get it to fall into place. She smiled softly at his look of helplessness under her touch. Her fingers played with one last piece of his hair and traced his jaw as she gave him one last look.

When she thought she was finished, she set the shears aside. Dmitry closed his eyes as if he was saying some sort of silent prayer that his harshness had not resulted in her taking revenge on his hair. 

“Do you trust me?” Anya asked. 

“That depends,” Dmitry replied. His eyes were still closed and his heart raced. Anya was being a little too playful for his comfort.

“Turn around,” Anya ordered. 

“How am I supposed to—“

“Just do it!”

He grumbled and turned to face the mirror, keeping his eyes covered for the reveal. 

“Now open your eyes,” Anya’s voice was soft and sweet. 

Dmitry slowly opened one eye and then the other to look at his reflection. He was prepared to cringe—his long hair was the perfect canvas for revenge. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised. 

Anya peered over his shoulder as she watched him examine himself. This wasn’t uncommon, but the way he softened as he looked at his hair was different. 

His hair turned out a bit shorter and kept all around, but Anya thought it complimented the angular features of his face. He had been keeping the back rather unruly and she had trimmed it closer. 

Dmitry stared for a moment and then ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t process what it meant that he actually liked how it looked. He turned to look at Anya as she watched him admiring her work. 

“You cut it shorter,” he said softly. His hand reached the back of his neck to feel where she had tidied the hair in the back.

“I think it looks better that way,” Anya replied. 

He looked back into the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair again. His lips parted as he looked at himself. He turned his head to the side and looked at himself from all angles. Anya had somehow cut it so there was no bad angle. 

“You call yourself the Prince of Petersburg but your hair is as unruly as that of a man who lives on the street,” Anya said smartly as she returned the shears. She rose to her feet and straightened herself out while Dmitry was fixed on his reflection. 

“How do you know about what a prince looks like anyway?” Dmitry muttered to hide his affection. 

“I read about them in the book you gave me,” Anya replied. She crossed her arms. 

Dmitry turned away and smiled. He glanced in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair again. He took care to make sure not a piece was out of place. 

Anya rocked on her heels as she lingered nearby. Her work here was done, but it seemed there was an unspoken truce between them.

Dmitry’s eyes flicked to her reflection in the mirror before he got up and straightened himself out. He cleared his throat to get her attention. 

Anya’s breath hitched as she turned back to look at him. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. There were lost words between them. 

Dmitry rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

Anya’s eyes lit up and she smiled. 

He offered his hand to Anya and she looked at it as she neared him. His ears were burning red and he cast his eyes away. 

Anya Took his hand and shook it firmly. 

Dmitry’s lip curled into a smile. He gently released Anya’s hand, his thumb tracing over the back of her hand. 

Anya’s eyes fixed on him for a moment longer and she reached up and fixed one strand of his hair that was out of place. 

He swatted her hand away and ran his fingers through his hair. 

Anya laughed and turned on her heel, her skirts fanning out around her as she spun around. There was a skip in her step as she walked across the room to the chaise where she had been reading. Anya plopped back down on the chaise and flipped her book open. 

Dmitry glanced over his shoulder to take one last look at his hair. He wouldn’t tell her just yet, but this was probably the best his hair had looked in a long time. 

He shook his hair out and then brushed it back with his fingers. Dmitry crossed the sitting room and rounded the chaise were Anya was sitting to extinguish the lamp beside her. With a smirk, he reached over and plucked her book from her grip. 

“Hey!” Anya snapped. 

Dmitry smiled and snapped it shut. “You don’t need that tonight.”

He had been so bitter and resistant to change he had never quite seen what good could come of it. Anya had been thrust into their lives and nothing had been the same since. She was like a promise that there were better days ahead for them somewhere. Maybe not in St. Petersburg. But somewhere.

Anya reached up and mussed his hair, and he playfully grabbed her hand to stop her. She fought against him, trying to reach over his arm to poke his side.

He dodged out of the way, and Anya burst into laughter as she tried to wrestle from his grip. Dmitry couldn’t help but laugh, her laugh was contagious that way.

Anya gripped his shirt to pull him closer. Dmitry held a hand out to keep her at an appropriate distance. She struggled against his hand and ended up kicking her leg up to him. 

A laugh escaped his lips and there was a swell in his chest that he hadn’t felt in years. Sure, she was stubborn, but weren’t all of them at times?

“Get a room, there are plenty in here,” Vlad muttered, the back of his arm covering his eyes and his head pounding from a mix of vodka and their laughter. 

Dmitry released his grip on her and pulled his hands to himself, and Anya sat up straight and smoothed her skirts out. She gave Dmitry a sheepish smile and he smiled in return. 

He opened his mouth to say something back to Vlad, but decided against it. Anya’s brow arched as she waited for what smart comeback he had. 

Dmitry paused as he watched Vlad a moment longer. Anya looked at Dmitry and then over the top of the chaise at Vlad. 

Dmitry took a quick shot at Anya’s side and she grabbed his hand and doubled over, laughing. 

“Anywhere else in the palace,” Vlad groaned. 

Dmitry rolled his eyes and shook his head. Anya clasped her hand to her mouth to hide her laughter.

It was a gentle reminder that they only really had each other in a city that seemed to be changing day by day. Where life fell short, they would fill in the gaps for each other. It was survival, self-sufficiency, and above all, the love they had for each other, whether they knew it yet or not. 


End file.
